


(the river won’t) run to the sea

by alexscarlet



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Day 2 - First Times, First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt and comfort, It's wonderful, IwaOi Week, M/M, again only kind of, burn with me in their cuteness pls, but i won't admit anything, it's painful, so maybe this is a bit late…, sports anime hell, they both hurt and heal my heart, very late, volley nerds being adorable, well…kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-25 00:04:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2601290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexscarlet/pseuds/alexscarlet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-storyline. </p><p>In which Iwaizumi hates seeing Oikawa sad (even though he's a brat) and always tries to make Oikawa happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(the river won’t) run to the sea

**Author's Note:**

> The first 400 words had been floating around on a word document for ages and last night I finally sat down and wrote the rest in one fell swoop. These dorks. Send help!

It was the spikes that first caught his attention. The first was just a little too low, the second too high. By the third, when he almost hit the net on his follow-through, Iwaizumi was certain something was seriously wrong. He landed and turned with a frown to face his setter. Before Iwaizumi could even open his mouth, Oikawa was ruffling his own brunette hair apologetically.

“Gomen~! That was too close to the net, it won’t happen again.” In the background, Iwaizumi could hear the familiar calls of ‘don’t mind’ from the rest of their teammates but he blocked them out, narrowing his eyes at the boy in front of him.  

Eventually he swallowed his worried questions and instead growled, “’Course it won’t happen again, next time it’ll be too far away,” and Oikawa flinched and cowered.

“I said I’m sorry Iwa-chan!” Behind him, a second year sauntering up to the net overheard, and tried to come to Oikawa’s rescue…the key word being _tried_.

“Maybe Oikawa-kun isn’t on top form today.” he shrugged, taking up his position as middle blocker.

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, “Oikawa is _always_ on form. 

“Why thank you, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa fluttered his eyelashes and earned himself a punch to the top of his head and a kick back into position. If you listened hard enough, there might have been an ‘assikawa’ thrown in somewhere. (It didn’t sound fond at all).

Oikawa trotted back into position, hair bouncing with every step, eyes down.

They were having a practice match between first and the second years who hadn’t made it onto the team. Iwaizumi didn’t mind much, just content with the sting of the ball on his palm, the burn of his forearms on a receive; but Oikawa was another thing altogether.

Oikawa would be fine for a while - just as content as Iwaizumi - but then they’d be up in the stands to cheer during a match, or told to watch the team practice for educational purposes, and his pure, unadulterated brattishness would come shining through; in pouts and whines and tugs on Iwaizumi’s arm the second they were out of sight of school and Oikawa let down his high and mighty façade. Iwaizumi had found out from years of friendship that the best way to stop the tirade of complaints and petty insults was a smack around the head and maybe a pinch of his ear and a healthy side dish of curse words.

So, the fact that Oikawa wasn’t complaining loudly, or gazing longingly at the court on the other side of the gym, or proudly predicting his apparently eminent promotion to a starter, made Iwaizumi glare at him harder than usual. He knew Oikawa like the back of his hand, as much as he wished that wasn’t the case (at least, that’s what he told everyone. 

 _He_ couldn’t be held accountable for the thoughts that ran through his head if he found himself staying over when Oikawa couldn’t settle down to work for anything and by the time their homework was finished, his mother insisted Iwaizumi not walk the two blocks to his own house and stay the night. And Oikawa, no Tooru - because warm bedrooms in quiet houses, and arms enveloping him in familiarity, were for first names - would sleep in those t-shirts that scooped low and framed his collarbones, and the shortest, ratty shorts, with holes in the back that gave glimpses of his briefs underneath.

He’d drape himself over his bed, hanging willowy off the edge, the lamplight melting his eyes as they reminisced and cracked inside jokes that usually ended in fighting and huffed breaths mingling when they settled in a pile that Tooru always wriggled into cuddles and shit. He was not thinking of this now. He was not thinking of the way it felt to hold his childhood friend in soothing warmth and steady sleep). 

The match continued, of course, oblivious to the silent suffering of two players, Iwaizumi’s hurt stemming from a lack of knowledge of Oikawa’s. Now all-too aware, the only thought occupying his mind was the tension tucked into the corners of Oikawa’s smile when they took the set, the strained quality of his laugh as first and second years alike clapped him on the shoulder. The tightness and shadow around his eyes, the slight heaviness even when they won and their senpais whooped happily and demonstrated great sportsmanship by insulting the losing side through the net.

As first years, they stayed behind to tidy up the gymnasium as their senpais trooped into the changing rooms, with varying degrees of exhaustion colouring their steps. Oikawa folded the net with his normal precision but none of his normal boisterous chatter. Iwaizumi was drowning in the near-silence; the only sound, their shoes against the lacquered wood and the quiet twittering of their peers, dutifully tidying away the other court. He never thought he’d wish Oikawa would be obnoxious and annoying, but it was just wrong having him like this. Iwaizumi felt unbalanced without a couple of kicks to Oikawa’s flat backside to right him again (not that he looked at Oikawa’s backside, flat or otherwise).

He didn’t plan on cornering him. It’s just. All the other first years had gone to change, and they were wheeling the last net stands into the storeroom, and they were alone. Oikawa was chattering on about nothing and it all sounded incorrect somehow, then before he knew it, Iwaizumi had him backed into the corner, managing to loom over him despite being the shorter of the pair (to his constant disgruntlement).

“Uh. Iwa-chan?” His eyes were all wrong. It wasn’t that Oikawa was avoiding his gaze; that might have been better. Instead, the eyes returning Iwaizumi’s gaze were so shielded that Iwaizumi couldn’t help but falter at the daunting prospect of tearing those shields down.

He cleared his throat. “What’s wrong?”

Oikawa raised an eyebrow. “Wrong?”

“What happened today? You were fine yesterday. You were fine this morning when we walked to school together.”

Oikawa smirked. “Aw, Iwa-chan is worried about me?” That mocking, teasing tone.

Iwaizumi slapped him. The force of it would have sent Oikawa reeling away but he was trapped in the corner. He cupped his cheek in one hand, the other spread one the storeroom wall, and through his fingers those dead eyes shot daggers at him. There was no amusement in those hard brown eyes at all, no magical return to his senses.

Damn. In that case, he’d probably just made the situation worse.

“So…” he stepped backwards and Oikawa took an aggressive step forwards, though went no further. “You gonna tell me what’s the matter?”

“Y’know, you just hit me? So, no, I’m not going to tell you what happened.” Oikawa realized the slip of words at the same time as Iwaizumi and, his hand dropping from his face, he stammered a little in his rush to reassure Iwaizumi, “Not that anything happened, of course.”

“Of course.” repeated Iwaizumi. Oikawa looked down, punched him weakly in the stomach. Iwaizumi was not impressed.

He knew what he was going to have to sink to, and the mere thought made him cringe. Ugh. He steeled his nerves and swallowed. Oikawa’s eyes tracked the bob of his throat before flicking up to Iwaizumi’s eyes, totally unprepared for the coming attack. With a deep breath in his lungs, Iwaizumi launched the offensive.

“Please tell me, Tooru.” he said softly. He swore Oikawa went visibly weak at the knees as blood raced to colour his cheeks. Iwaizumi was vaguely disgusted at himself for having to stoop to saying things like ‘please’ and exploiting Oikawa’s given name.

Unfortunately, Iwaizumi had underestimated the vast power of his words. Oikawa seemed perfectly speechless; at least his eyes weren’t flat anymore, but lighting up again, as they searched Iwaizumi’s face desperately. Iwaizumi wondered what he found there, if he liked what he saw. (Secretly, he _very really_ hoped he did).

Iwaizumi nudged his head forward in an indication of encouragement. Oikawa’s mouth opened but no sound left it; the whole thing was so tedious Iwaizumi thought he should just call him Tooru all the time, not just in private, because it was just overly troublesome whenever he tried to manipulate Oikawa with it’s usage (Iwaizumi didn’t focus on how lovely the name tasted when he cradled it on his tongue, imagined saying it to the boy in front of him on a regular basis, maybe even in front of the team…he was not shivering, and if he was it was because his sweat had cooled on his skin and he was cold, not because the very thought made him shake with indescribable joy). 

Oh wait, Oikawa was talking. Resurfacing from his internal monologue, Iwaizumi tuned in to the words coming out of Oikawa’s mouth. 

“H-Hajime. Hajime."

Iwaizumi felt dizzy. His blood seemed confused whether to blush his cheeks a furiously bright red, or to rush southwards. He hoped Oikawa didn’t notice when he shifted awkwardly from foot to foot and tugged his jacket down a little bit. (Which was, of course, a vain thought, as Oikawa noticed everything, had a ridiculously good eye for little detail, something which made him so formidable on the volleyball court and such a danger in real life; but Oikawa seemed a little too preoccupied with the fact that the effect they had on each other was a mutual thing - something Iwaizumi was trying desperately to ignore).

“U-uh, Right, okay, so problem?”

Oikawa was leaning closer. Iwaizumi would be lying if he said he didn’t panic. Obviously his attempt to regain control of the conversation had gone totally unnoticed. It was a constant power struggle between the two of them; somebody who only ever saw him whacking Oikawa over the head probably wouldn’t see it, however, Iwaizumi knew it all too well from multiple times he’d hit Oikawa behind a locked door and it had ended up with his face mushed on the carpet and Oikawa sitting on his back cackling like a witch. 

Oikawa couldn’t be more than three inches away from him. Suddenly Iwaizumi was reminded of their height difference, feeling very short. He thought he might go cross-eyed trying to keep his eyes on Oikawa’s; they baffled him slightly, because they weren’t filled with amusement, nor teasing, but a deep intrigue, like Iwaizumi was a riddle he’d been trying to figure out for a year or two or maybe his whole life. Yes, definitely cross-eyed. Iwaizumi stumbled a step backwards, his trainers entangling in a discarded net (really, some people needed to learn how to put equipment away properly) and oh, there was nowhere else to go.

Oikawa tracked him, stepping forwards, though there was still a space between them. In the relative lack of light in the storeroom, Oikawa’s eyes still managed to shine, Oikawa’s lips still managed to glisten when his tongue snaked out and licked them and Iwaizumi couldn’t help but wonder at how their positions had changed and now he was the one with week knees. 

Oikawa leaned closer and Iwaizumi closed his eyes and suddenly his ears were filled with laughter; that witch cackle that he thought he’d never hear outside of his bedroom.

He opened his eyes and Oikawa was gone. He pivoted, nearly got tripped over by the twisted, unfolded net (it had been Oikawa who had dumped it there now he thought about it, and really that boy was just asking to be kicked out of the volleyball club), and was met with the sight of Oikawa dancing away from him, pulling his left eye into a wink with one finger, the other hand making a V, his tongue stuck out childishly (Iwaizumi felt like a child; a stupid, naïve child who needed to wake up to reality sooner rather than later if he wanted to have some sort of friendship to salvage between himself and Oikawa). 

“Assikawa.” he muttered under his breath. Oikawa skipped closer, leaning in. 

“What was that, Iwa-chan?” he sang. Iwaizumi lurched forward, reaching for Oikawa’s shirt collar and shrieking Oikawa turned tail and ran. Iwaizumi’s smile couldn’t be hidden no matter how hard he tried, as he chased and dodged and poked Oikawa all around the gymnasium, the squeak of their trainers and the echoes of their laughter. 

Oikawa’s laugh was pretty close to a cackle and his face didn’t have the tension hidden beneath the mask of a smile anymore, the mischievous grin was 100% real and 100% Tooru.

So maybe Iwaizumi hadn’t managed to figure out what had been bothering him. So maybe he was being teased. So maybe they hadn’t kissed.

Oikawa was happy again.

**Author's Note:**

> Iwa-chan saving Oikawa from himself. My lifeblood. Please leave kudos! It would make me sooooo happy~!


End file.
